Harry Potter and the Staff of Discord
by Demosthenes2
Summary: Chapter 5: The history of the Staff of Discord. Harry, Ron, and Hermione uncover the secrets of the Staff. I'll probably rewrite this a bit. In the mean time, feel free to read and review.
1. Chapters 1-2

Harry Potter and the Staff Of Discord  
By Demosthenes  
  
  
-Prologue-  
  
A bright field of stars shone in an endless panorama. The glittering dome of the sky spread above the earth in perfect clarity. It was a warm evening, in the prime of summer, and the western sky was still tinged with remembered crimson. A young man lay upon a hill, behind a house, in a field of clover. The rich scent of the plants swirled about him as he rested, watching the stars.  
This young man was dividing his time between thinking and dreaming, certainly ordinary for a boy of his fifteen years. He was enjoying a summer evening outside his home-also ordinary. But this young man was far from ordinary.  
His name was Harry Potter. He was a wizard. He lived in a world filled with magic, adventure, and mystery. Harry did not consider himself unusual - far from it. He had many friends and acquaintances who were much the same. That magical world was his, and he was most at home in it. The ordinary non-magical (Muggle) world seemed alien to him now. In truth, though, Harry was extraordinary even in comparison to the witches and wizards he knew and loved.   
Harry Potter was famous. Millions in the Wizarding world knew his name. During his first year of life, Harry had come dangerously close to having it ended. The Dark Lord Voldemort-the mightiest wizard seen for a millennium- had come to call on the Potters. The dread sorcerer had murdered Harry's parents, who gave their lives to protect their son. Upon his attempt to slay the infant Potter, Voldemort found his body shattered and his power broken. The boy who lived had ended a decade of abject fear.  
Later, Harry found that his conflict with the Dark Lord was to continue. After being informed of his true heritage and coming to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the young sorcerer confronted Voldemort and his minions with surprising frequency. The previous year-his fourth at Hogwarts- Potter and his friends Ron and Hermione played a great part in the destruction of the Heresiarch, the most awesomely powerful wizard ever to walk the earth.  
Harry and his friends paid dearly. They suffered grievous harm to life and limb. Harry's wand was shattered. An innocent man sacrificed himself. But in the end, the Heresiarch was stopped. The ancient and parasitic being that was known as Voldemort was banished from space and time, cast into a ceaseless void.  
The terror that had stalked the world was gone. Surely the Dark Lord could not be recalled to Earth, intentionally?  
Harry Potter slept.  
__  
  
Grey oblivion. No stars shone. Only infinity upon infinity, filled with a pulsing nothingness. A space between and outside all things stretched into forever and never.   
A disruption. The fabric of emptiness changed. A cry reached out into the void.  
A sleeper awoke.  
-1-  
  
Morning found Harry Potter making his way up the dew-covered hillside. The wonderful smells of cooking food drifted down toward him from his godfather's house. Sirius Black, his legal guardian and father's closest friend, would be up and about already. A post owl flew by overhead, carrying the morning newspaper.   
Sirius' house was fair-sized, and somewhat ramshackle, despite restoration after his release from prison. A low wall surrounded the house and wild garden. The house itself looked like a conglomeration of three or four architectural styles and seven or eight building materials. Some would call it rustic, or charming, or suchlike trash. To Harry it was home, and the second most wonderful place on earth, preceded and succeeded by Hogwarts and Ron's home, the Burrow.  
Inside, Sirius Black worked carefully burning scrambled eggs while the sausages awaited the coming conflagration. It was never safe to let that man loose near a stove. Oh well. Harry's godfather was a kind and spirited man, possessed of a razor wit from his childhood and a harder side from his long incarceration in Azkaban, the feared wizard prison. He greeted his godson and tossed him the Daily Prophet, which had been turning its own pages so Sirius could read.  
Replying with a cheerful "Good morning," Harry opened the paper. The moving photographs were, as always, fun. There was no important news. Just as well.  
Leafing through the mail, Harry found a letter, addressed to him, written on very fine parchment. Opening it, he read a rather bizarre invitation.  
  
To Harry Potter, 5th-year Hogwarts student:  
We cordially extend to you an invitation to the opening gala of our exhibition on magical artifacts of the past millennium. The centerpiece of this exhibition was acquired after extensive searching and is being appended to the museum collection at this time. Needless to say, we wish to spread the word of our exhibit as widely as possible. Thus, we have been most fortunate to enter into an agreement with the Hogwarts faculty. All fifth-year students will be visiting the exhibit on opening night, November 23rd. Further information will be given to you upon arrival at school for the fall term. We thank you for your time and eagerly await your attendance.   
Welsh Museum of Wizarding History  
Ruins at Pendre Ifan  
Chief Curator Regenstern   
  
Puzzled, Harry set down the letter. A museum gala sounded...interesting.  
Oh well. Hermione would be there. And, kicking or screaming or not, so would Ron.  
__  
  
Time comes and time goes, and, though he had had the single best summer of his life, Harry soon had to prepare for another year at school. He was happy to do so, however. For the first time, once with his godfather, Harry had a home where he was accepted and loved. The Dursleys no longer held sway over him. But all the same, Hogwarts was the first place he could remember happiness and friendship. It had been the focal point of his life. And it, more than any other place, was home.   
Every existence is dependent on the fulfilling of certain ritual tasks. For Harry, it was the annual trip to Diagon Alley. Armed with the school supply list and letter from Hogwarts, the young sorcerer was prepared for a most unusual day of shopping. The cultural and economic center of Wizard London, Diagon Alley was an incredible maze of stores and oddities, well suited for the average Hogwarts student. A variety of other roads led off from the central path. Knockturn Alley had everything a budding necromancer could wish for, while Idee Alley was devoted to making the world a better place.  
Harry usually looked forward to meeting his friends in one of the many stores. However, both Ron and Hermione were unable to travel that day. Ginny Weasley-Ron's sister-was ill, and Hermione's parents were attending a convention on gum regeneration in cases of extreme gingivitis. Unavoidable, true, but took some of the fun out of the day.  
In one of the shops, Madam Malkin's Robe Emporium (New Location, Grand Opening), Harry ran into someone he had never met before.  
When both had gathered their bags, dusted off, and apologized, they blinked and stared. The stranger was clad in the black robes of a Hogwarts student, and a letter with the school seal protruded from his pocket. He looked Harry's age, but was certainly not a current Hogwarts student. Breaking the silence simultaneously, they began to speak.  
"You're Harry Potter!"  
"You go to Hogwarts!"  
"Okay, okay. You got me. I surrender. Not to be crude, good sir, but what wouldst suggest to thee-I mean, uh, what happened to be your first clue? My name's Kaspar. It is my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. As it happens, I'm a transfer from a school on the continent. They, uh, disbanded it...shut it down, you know."  
"In that case, Mr. Kaspar, I'm sure we'll be happy to have you join our school. Glad to have met you. Hey, are you finding the shops you need? I'd be happy to show you around."  
"Well, if you really don't mind..."  
"No, no. It's a confusing place. Besides, I have a few hours to spare."  
And so the day went on. Harry introduced the newcomer to Diagon Alley and some of his classmates along the way. Talking to Kaspar was a bizarre experience. He spoke with an untraceable accent and a strange, lilting tone. His mannerisms and speaking style changed regularly, as though he had gotten out of practice in talking and was figuring out how best to do it. But he was a fascinating person, full of strange insight and ready humor. Harry was certain they could become friends.  
Kaspar stood about half a head taller than Harry, with a lithe, muscular frame. Facially, Harry supposed most girls would call him handsome. His skin was oddly pale, his hair a deep brown, and his eyes piercing blue, with an iridescent shimmer. They were like ice, though- bright and shining, but flat and cold. It was strange, but a small matter. They didn't reflect his personality. The transfer student was friendly and extroverted, almost to the point of bombast. His occasional sarcasm could etch glass. And he had a gift for figuring out what you were thinking-almost like he could read minds.  
But, their shopping completed- and an invitation to a trip around Diagon Alley's Amsterdam equivalent extended- the time came to part. Harry bid his new friend farewell, and looked forward to their next meeting. It had been an interesting day, thought Harry, as he headed back to the Leaky Cauldron to meet Sirius. At least he hadn't been lonely.  
Returning home, Harry found Hedwig-his owl- with company upon her perch. A large horned owl of regal bearing sat in state, with a heavy parchment letter upon its leg. It was another letter from Hogwarts. Wonderful, thought Harry, more shopping. The message contained Harry's course schedule, though- no more supplies needed. For the most part, little had changed. Fifth-year courses of the staple classes: Transfiguration, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy.   
Care of Magical Creatures, of course, and Divination-he hadn't been able to drop the course. A few new classes were included on the list, though. Advanced Magic Theory was a requirement for fifth-years, and Ancient Runes, Etc. as well as Elementary Dueling, an intriguing elective. A busy schedule, on top of the frequent Quidditch practices, but that was what made life interesting.  
A second note within the paper confirmed the invitation from the Museum. Professor Binns had made the arrangements; everyone would go, and doubtless have to write several papers. Joy. Still, there was no mention of the exact nature of the exhibit "centerpiece".   
After finishing his summer homework, Harry found that all was in readiness. He would meet his friends at King's Cross Station on the first of September, and then go once more into the grand adventure of a Hogwarts term.  
  
-2-  
  
The train station was always crowded; bustling with people going here and there, back again, then somewhere else entirely. However, one day a year it seemed, if not busier, then more active. The people seemed stranger, as well. A security guard who had spent most of his life at his post watched them come and go, but always for that one day it was different. So many passengers seemed out of place, lost, amused. Many had large trunks, as if their children were going to boarding school. But he never saw them board the train.  
Harry Potter and his godfather walked through the illusory barrier into Platform 9 ¾. Before them appeared a crowded train platform, stuffed with wizard families, waiting to board and wave goodbye to the Hogwarts Express. The massive red train would leave from the station, concealed from Muggle eyes, and embark upon the long, winding journey to the world's foremost magical school.   
Finding a space in the corner, the two said goodbye. Each was the closest thing to family the other had in the world. Sirius Black, a man hardened by the darkest fate in the Wizarding world, survivor of a decade in the nightmares of Azkaban, could not help but shed a tear. "Your father dreamed of the day he could watch his son step onto the Hogwarts Express. I guessI get to feel all the pride he never could. Go. Learn. Bring honor to your parents' name. And, for the sake of all that's decent, try to have a normal year, okay?" He clapped his godson on the shoulder and was met with an embrace. Sirius smiled. "Go find your friends. Just be sure to write."  
Fighting his way through the swarming mass of humanity, Harry looked around for Ron and Hermione. It had been far too long since he had seen them. If Black was the father he had lost, then Hermione and Ron were his sister and brother. They were his dearest friends. The three comrades would go to the ends of the earth for each other, and then some-  
"Harry!" A shout in unison drew his attention over to another corner of the platform. Hermione and the Weasley family were huddled against the press of the crowd, waiting for the train to board. Retrieving his trunk, Harry went over to join them. He was greeted with the usual firestorm of Weasley welcome. Mr. Weasley shook his hand. Mrs. Weasley simultaneously shattered his ribs and smothered him in a motherly hug. Ginny blushed and smiled, Fred and George offered him a strangely colored piece of chewing gum, and Ron, looking embarrassed, high-fived him. Hermione, quietly laughing, threw her arms around him. About her neck was a simple silver chain, with a fitting for a gemstone that no longer adorned it. She drew back and smiled. "Good to see you again. It's been a while."  
Chatting with the Weasleys, Harry passed the time until the train was opened. Seeing Mr. Weasley, Sirius came over to talk. The two were, if not old friends, then fast ones. Mrs. Weasley always seemed uncomfortable around him, though. Maybe it was ten years of believing he was a mass murderer. Acquittal sometimes took a while to sink in. Sirius and Arthur happily discussed Quidditch, the inflation rate of the Galleon- the standard wizard currency - and, in hushed tones, some goings-on at the Ministry.  
The signal was given to board. Fighting with their own trunks, both Harry and Ron offered to help Hermione with hers. Instead, she glanced furtively around. Giving her case a quick tap with her wand, she lifted it easily. Harry and Ron gaped at her open-mouthed. "You're going to get busted by the Underage-Magic-Use department, you know." Said Ron.  
"I don't think so, Ron. Look," she said, pointing to the station walls. "There's a massive field of disruption from the electric and magnetic power systems of the Muggle trains. To anyone watching, that looked like a power surge on rail five. Let's go." The three friends waved goodbye to their families. Everyone waved back, except George and Fred, who were both engaged in trying to write 'electromagnetic disturbances caused by Muggle power systems' on their hands.  
As bustling as the platform outside seemed, the Hogwarts Express never seemed to lack for space. Harry, Ron and Hermione found a compartment of their own, with two seats to spare. The train was not yet full, so they would likely have company. However, it was nice to enjoy a few minutes of privacy and catch up on each other's summers. Ron boasted about his trip to the Chudley-Islington Quidditch match. Hermione spoke happily about her visit to Spain. When she had finished, Harry told with great joy of his perfectly average summer.   
The door burst open. In fell Neville Longbottom, a clumsy, forgetful, but likeable boy. Dusting himself off, he said hello and walked through the compartment into the wall-that is, door-that is, the newly opened door into the next. Shortly after him came Kaspar. Smiling, Harry introduced the transfer student to Ron and Hermione. Kaspar shook their hands warmly then made a mockingly formal bow. "It is my pleasure to make thy acquaintance, milord and lady." They laughed, and he flashed a dazzling grin. His personality ensured that he would have no trouble making friends at school. Kaspar had won three already.  
The train wound its way along a lengthy course, across mountains and valleys, open spaces and forests, which one could never really find on a map. The trip took most of a day, and though the train had left early in the morning, evening was giving way to night when it reached its destination. Set atop a hill, facing a lake, and silhouetted by a darkening sky, Hogwarts castle rose, shining, before them. The students of the great school disembarked from the Express and stood in wonder. Even the students who had seen it many times could not help but gaze like first-years. This was to be their home - it was their home, each one of them, home, and it would always be. It was a beautiful and fascinating place.   
Hopping in a carriage drawn by horses that weren't, Harry smiled and looked out the window. He had come once more to Hogwarts.   
__  
  
The castle was lit like a star in the gathering night. Candles blazed from every window, welcoming, and calling them to a new year. The great doors were opened wide as the students left their carriages. The first-years, plus Kaspar, looked around in stunned amazement. Harry remembered the thrill of the ride across the lake, seeing Hogwarts in glorious splendor. The newcomers were led inside and away to a different room, in preparation for the Sorting ceremony. They would soon be divided into their respective houses in the timeless ritual.  
The returning pupils were allowed to proceed into the Great Hall. The heart and hub of Hogwarts was bedecked in vibrant color, with the house banners unfurled and the tables set with golden finery. The teachers stood upon their raised dais, waiting to sit. At a signal from Headmaster Dumbledore, the students filed to their places. The houses divided into their own respective tables, and all were seated.   
Without further ado, the Sorting Hat was brought forward and set upon a stool. It was a wizard's peaked hat, patched and worn. But it was much more, as well. Since the founding of Hogwarts, the Hat had been used to examine the heart and mind of each new student. Their aptitude, attitude, and moral fiber were used to place the pupil in the proper house. And, in a thousand years of Sorting, the Hat had never been wrong.  
The Sorting began. First-years stood in nervous rows along the wall, waiting for their turn. Finally, when all had been made Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff, Kaspar stepped forward. Professor McGonagall read his name aloud, "Velat, Kaspar". He sat down upon the stool placed the Hat upon his head. The tear that served as the mouth of the Hat shot open immediately. It was about to pass judgment when it stopped. The mouth began to close, and the Hat quivered slightly. The tear opened again, and began to close, but spread wide once more.  
"Gryffindor..." whispered the Sorting Hat.  
Kaspar smiled.  
  
__  
  
The feast was the consummate example of celebration. After the whole of Hogwarts had dined its fill upon endless victuals, and a sleepy complacency had settled over the student body, the Headmaster rose to speak. Albus Dumbledore looked much the same as he always did. His radiant blue eyes shone with the seeming of a perfect joke known only to himself, but retained a quality that could look into you every bit as well as the Sorting Hat. His hair and beard gleamed silver. One thing had changed, though. Dumbledore lacked none of the vitality that marked him, but physically, he appeared frailer. It was as though his seeming agelessness had begun to wear at last.   
In a clear, musical voice, the Headmaster of Hogwarts addressed his students. "Greetings to you all. It gives me great pleasure to speaking to you this year. I am certainly happy that you have come here. More so, though, I am glad to say that I have no dire news whatsoever to brief you on this year. No ancient wizards, escaped murderers, or forbidden corridors need warning away from. So, with that to start from, I propose that we all try to have a normal year. That said, I do have a few minor announcements to make.  
First, I would like to greet our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Ydur." Attention shifted for a moment to the short, powerfully built man at one end of the long teacher's dais. Dark of hair and eye, the new teacher wore an expression somewhere between scowl and smile. He bowed at Dumbledore's acknowledgement, and then sat back down. Dumbledore continued,  
"I am sure many of you have questions about a certain letter you may have received. Professor Binns has asked me to explain. The Welsh Museum of Wizarding History is perhaps the largest and most renowned museum of its type in the world. They have made multiple additions to their collection, and are celebrating the new arrivals with a gala event. Now, you may be wondering why this concerns you, my dear fifth-year students. Professor Binns has procured reservations for your entire year to attend the exhibit. You will be expected to write a paper on one of the exhibit's pieces in advance and deliver it to the Professor. He will assign the artifacts to you later.   
And so, Hogwarts, I come to the end of my speech and we come to the conclusion of our celebration. Please proceed to your house dormitories. Good night to all."  
In a sleepy daze, the student body walked the familiar paths toward room and bed. The Gryffindors gathered before a portrait of a fat lady, which swung open at a password. The portal closed, and a new year began.  



	2. Chapters 3-4

-3-  
  
The morning sun heralded the dawning of a new term at Hogwarts. Harry awoke to the shrieking of his alarm clock, and rolled out of the bed as familiar as his at home. The Gryffindor Common Room and dormitories were set in one of the numerous towers of Hogwarts castle. This excellent placement gave them a stunning view of the grounds, and some very nice spiral staircases. He was first to awaken in the fifth-year boys' dormitory, but his classmates were slowly, begrudgingly coming to consciousness.  
Ron, bleary-eyed, grinned at Harry. "Good to be back, isn't it? Wonder how we'll almost kill ourselves this year. Ah, later. Let's get breakfast." Kaspar sprang catlike from his bed, then stretched and yawned. Neville, tangled in his sheets, fell to the floor with a crash, and then jumped to his feet, looking embarrassed. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, close friends, were already good-naturedly arguing about something or other. With everyone awake and ready, the fifth-years went in search of sustenance.  
Meeting Hermione in the Common Room, Harry and Ron raced to breakfast. Of course, there were no lines, and the food was always plentiful. All the same, it tasted better if you were there first. The Great Hall was already bustling with students, and the air was thick with post owls. Steaming platters of sausages, eggs, and toast were set on the House tables. The three friends pulled up seats and filled up plates.   
Harry looked around. Everyone was doing something different. Groups of first-years wandered around together, looking lost and homesick. Ron was discussing the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch final of the previous year with Alicia Spinnet, the team captain. Hermione was looking over her books, final preparations before the first day of school. Kaspar looked around constantly, as if trying to absorb all the new sights. Draco Malfoy, Harry's Slytherin archrival, was flaunting his new robes and boasting loudly.   
The first bell rung, and the Hall emptied as students headed to their first classes.   
First hour for the Gryffindors was History of Magic, an excellent timeslot. It was quite easy to sleep on a full stomach and recently woken head. Professor Binns, the teacher, was but a "ghost" of his former self, and his droning often held a "specter" of death and a "funereal" mood over the class. He stood at the head of the classroom and addressed his audience, "deadpan."  
"I am sure," Professor Binns began, "that you are all wondering about the much-touted, little-revealed museum field trip? Well, the task has fallen to me of explaining it to you. I have been discussing this event for some time with Curator Regenstern. Each of you, working in groups, will be assigned a specific artifact to research. This report- 120 inches of parchment- will be due on the 23rd, before we depart for the museum. I will assign these artifacts today and expect you to work on this project outside of class. The paper will serve as your major project for the first term. So, without further ado, let us begin.   
The artifacts for the Gryffindors have been assigned as follows: Finnegan, Longbottom, and Thomas, will be researching the Night Medallion, made famous for its use by Eurykles of Miletus. That's a hint for you, gentlemen. Brown, Patil, and Velat: you are hereby assigned the Paracelsus Scrolls. Now, Granger, Weasley, and Potter- the three of you are to delve into the mysteries of the Staff of Discord, the exhibit centerpiece. Now, on to our lesson: The dissolution of the Greco-Roman prestidigitators' protectorate in A.D. 503…"  
The momentary buzz of excitement surrounding the new project was quickly dispelled, and the class settled back into comfortable numbness.  
Time passed, and the bell rang. The students shook cobwebs from their heads and filed into the halls. Harry hadn't expected such a difficult history lesson on the first day. Course schedules for fifth-year students had been expanded and made more grueling than had been thought possible. Several additional class periods had been added each day, and no fifth-year students were given prefect posts. After four years of intense disruption in classes, the bill was coming due in the end-of-year O.W.L. exams. Hogwarts would give students everything they needed to succeed-except time to sleep.   
Second hour took the Gryffindors outside to Care of Magical Creatures, taught by Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts groundskeeper. He had been a close friend of Harry, Ron, and Hermione since their first year at school. They always looked forward to his class, despite the many misadventures that accompanied it. The class was doubled with the Ravenclaw students, infinitely preferable to a pairing with Slytherin. Hagrid greeted them warmly, and then gave them an overview of the term's work.   
"Well, y'all," Hagrid began, "I think ye will enjoy our creatures this year. We'll start out with a marine unit, kelpies and suchlike. By the end of the term, I hope to show you something completely new. A creature of bloody incredible nature is lyin' inside this cocoon. In a few months, it'll hatch. Ye'll be able to see and work with some very unique creatures. And I promise they won't try to kill anyone." Everyone smiled, but no one wanted to stand too close to the cocoon. At Hagrid's instruction, they opened their "Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them" texts for the day's lesson.   
As the third bell rang, the four friends parted ways. Curricula differed from school to school, so Kaspar was meeting with Professor McGonagall to discuss his previous education. Hermione was on her way to Arithmancy, and Harry and Ron unhappily proceeded to Divination. Sibyl Trelawney-the Divination teacher- was a strange and totally incomprehensible woman. Harry and Ron had never been convinced of the value of her prognostication lessons-largely because she predicted frequent, horrible deaths for Harry.   
Harry and Ron made their way to the Divination classroom, high in one of the school towers. Scaling the silvery ladder to the tower attic, they entered a small, dark, room hazy with herbs and candle smoke. They found Professor Trelawney surrounded by a cluster of her favorite students, while the rest of the class stood around and looked puzzled. The professor looked up as they entered. Her hands were pressed against her temples, and she muttered bitterly through her lips. "Now that everyone has decided to join us," she spoke, "Class is canceled for the day. I have a headache. It happens often to those of us who delve into the mysteries of the cosmos. But, be that as it may, my inner eye is too clouded too teach today."   
Lavender Brown, in a voice fairly reeking of earnest concern, piped up. "Would you like us to help you to the infirmary, Professor?" Trelawney shook her head, and waved everyone away.  
"I'll be fine. I just need to sleep for a while."  
Shrugging, Harry turned to Ron. His friend grinned and dove for the ladder. This was definitely not an opportunity to pass up. The two compatriots sprinted down the stairs, laughing as they went. At the bottom of the spiral staircase, they met Kaspar, who was wandering aimlessly down the corridor. He greeted them, and inquired as to their unexpected presence in the hall. He grinned when he heard the reason. "From what I've heard, she deserved it - wacky old bat. McGonagall talked to me about the stuff I learned at my old school. I'll have to take a review course in Transfiguration, but I'm ahead in Herbology. So, it should balance out. She told me to take the next couple of periods off to get acclimated to the school. I'll be free until…the end of this hour."  
"Great," said Harry, "We are, too. What should we do now?"  
Ron proposed a trip to the lake. Kaspar preferred an expedition to the library, so they could start on their projects. Ron groaned, but could not argue the wisdom of the proposal. With Harry leading the way, the trio proceeded to the library. They dedicated the better part of the hour to perusing the shelves, but to little avail. Kaspar located numerous texts on Paracelsus and his most legendary works, but Harry and Ron found no references to the Staff of Discord. Finally, in resigned frustration, Ron flopped into a chair. "Bloody hell," he said, "Let's come back with Hermione. I swear she's indexed the entire library. We're getting nowhere fast." Harry tossed aside a copy of "The Collector's Guide to Arcane Artifacts" and agreed. Kaspar checked out his books and followed them out the door. Harry, Ron, and Kaspar turned toward the common room for a game of chess; no sooner had they done so, though, than the end-of-period bell rang. Groaning, the friends trudged down toward the dungeons for Potions.   
Hermione met Harry, Ron, and Kaspar at the door, whispering a warning as they walked in. "Watch out, guys. Snape seems a little…unhappy." The Potions professor was wearing a scowl of perfect fury, and his pallid face was tinged with splotches of red. He turned to look as Harry walked in. "Ah, Mr. Potter," he said, acidly, "How good of you to join us. Five points will be taken from Gryffindor if you don't get to your seat. Now, for the mere mortals in the group, we'll be making an especially difficult potion today. The Disenchanting Draught uses Murtlap growths, which will react strongly if improperly used. The ingredients and the instructions are on the desk. Get to work."   
For the remainder of the hour, Snape stalked ominously about as the students strove to complete the complex potion. Harry and Ron acquired covert advice from Hermione while Kaspar strove to assist Neville. About halfway through the class, a hideous noise shook the room. Neville had accidentally misread the ingredient amounts, causing his potion to react. Clouds of green smoke poured from the cauldron while a thick yellow liquid ate through the cauldron and table and spread across the floor. Kaspar stumbled backwards, his arm covered in the fluid and his face contorted in pain, and dove for a sink. He ran water over his arm to rinse away the searing liquid - Harry was certain it had burned away the limb. Snape ordered everyone away from the spill as he scattered a neutralizing agent on the ground. A grimace of concern on his face, the professor turned to Kaspar. "Let me see your arm, boy…"   
Kaspar, miraculously, held up a largely undamaged arm. The flesh was raw, like it had been well scrubbed with a coarse washcloth, but showed no other signs of harm. "Just lucky, I guess. Got the stuff off before it burned too much. Should be okay." Snape could hardly believe his eyes, but shrugged in relief.   
"Thank your lucky stars, boy, and choose your partners more carefully. If you want a pass to the hospital wing, ask me. Otherwise, just pour this liquid on the spot to make sure the potion's gone."  
Harry sighed with relief. Kaspar - however miraculously - was all right. Snape berated the class for several minutes, furious at their 'outrageous lack of caution.' Eventually, though, he settled down and returned to his standard quiet unpleasantness. The class continued as usual, without further incident.  
Eventually, the blessed end-of-period bell announced their liberation from Potions. The quartet of comrades scaled the stairs to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Their first impressions of Professor Ydur were mixed. He taught as well as any of their previous educators, but he was not a pleasant man. His demeanor was not as sour as Snape's, but was remarkably cold and distant. He made the material clear and easy to understand, but the instruction he gave was astonishingly impersonal - as though his mind were focused somewhere else entirely.   
For several years, the main focus of Defense Against the Dark Arts had been on magical beasts known to be dangerous or capable of causing harm. This year, however, the textbook was filled with curses and counter-curses, the hallmarks of combat with Dark wizards. The professor told them to expect a great difference in the two topics. The creatures were tame and harmless compared to the spells they would learn to resist in the coming year. Demonstrations would be rare, but they should be ready for bizarre and disturbing sights when they took place. He then launched into a discussion of basic counter-curse procedure. No teachers seemed interested in wasting time.   
Herbology and Astronomy were much the same as ever. Friendly and direct, the stout, robust Professor Sprout ran through some of the plants they would study, then gave a long lecture on greenhouse procedure and safety. Professor Sinistra was pale and quiet, always standing with eyes cast upward, truly more at home among the stars. The Professor was a genius in the subject of Astronomy, however, and was always given the silent respect of the class. Their observations of the heavens would continue much as they always had, with more detailed analysis and discussion. After these classes, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kaspar headed toward Advanced Magic Theory.   
Hermione was thrilled by the prospect of the new class. According to her research, it was an astonishing insight into the nature and growth of magic. Few schools besides Hogwarts taught it, and none had such an honored reputation. Harry was curious, but the class nonetheless sounded dull. Magic Theory? Ron and Kaspar seemed indifferent, very likely expecting a class much like History of Magic - full of information but short on application.  
They filed into the classroom and took their seats. All chatting ceased immediately as a completely unexpected teacher walked in. Headmaster Dumbledore smiled warmly and addressed the class. "Good afternoon, dear pupils, and welcome to Advanced Magic Theory. I am certain you are expecting a bland, pointless course taught by a barmy old codger. I will, of course, do my best to live up to your expectations. If you are willing to grant me your attention for one short period each day, I will attempt to expand the horizons of your mind and your outlook on the aspects of magic. Please feel free to ask me questions on anything you desire and ignore anything I say. I cannot promise, however, that you will receive an answer or not be tested upon the disregarded material. So, as the motion of the spheres limits our time together, let us commence with our lessons…"  
Dazed by Dumbledore's presence in the classroom and stunned by the material they were to cover, the four friends stumbled from the room after the bell rang. Harry hardly noticed his remaining classes, even Professor Flitwick's elementary dueling. At the end of the day, he collapsed exhausted into bed. He would be busy, remarkably so, but with the help of his friends, he might just have a happy, normal, and successful year.  
  
-4-  
  
Time passed quickly. Harry had often found the homework from his classes difficult, but the assignments for his fifth year were brutal. Two weeks after the beginning of the term, Hermione reminded him of the paper they had yet to begin. That day arrangements were made, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione planned to meet in the library after classes were complete. Kaspar also decided to tag along, planning to work further on his own project. So, as the final bell rang, the quartet of comrades trod the winding stairs to the Hogwarts library.   
The library was Hermione's secondary residence - she was as often found there as in the Gryffindor towers. Consequentially, she had mentally indexed and memorized much of the library's copious collection. This proved an invaluable talent on all research projects, since the Shelf-Searching Catalog Charms were often inactive or ineffectual. Within minutes, she had pointed out several texts on ancient artifacts and magical mythical miscellany. Once she had collected all the relevant tomes in her recollection, the trio of friends set about scanning them for information.   
Kaspar had already begun writing his paper on Paracelsus, but data on the Staff of Discord was remarkably elusive. After over an hour of searching, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had found nothing. Closing her book with a rush of frustration, Hermione stood up and backed away from the table. "Come here, Harry," she said. A quizzical look on his face, Harry rose from his seat and walked over to her. "Hold my hand," Hermione continued. "There's a spirit, a magical presence, to the library here. With so many books of magic and with magic, it's developed an aura of some sort. I learned to interface with it, but it can get pretty weird. Just hold on to me - it keeps me grounded. This is the best way to find a book, and we have to get started on this paper." Hermione extended her wand hand, and her body went rigid. Harry gripped her hand tightly, stunned at her newly revealed talent and the incredible silence that settled over the room. Her eyes twitched occasionally, then opened as she grinned in triumph. Suddenly a book appeared in her hand. She set it down and closed her eyes again. A few moments later, she smiled again, but suddenly jerked as if shocked, and fell down. Harry caught her as she fell and returned her to her feet.   
Hermione stamped her foot in anger and embarrassment. "Oh, bother. I forgot about the Restricted section…stupid, stupid, stupid…there are safeguards of some kind set up around it; I couldn't get the book, but I did get a friendly reminder not to take books from the Restricted shelves. Well, this is the only non-Restricted one I found." She picked up the book she had acquired, The Official Record of the Minutes of the Sorcerer's Council 1500-1510. She checked for references to the Staff of Discord, but found only one:  
  
Three-and-twentie day of June, AD 1507:  
Upon the completion of negotiations, it was decided that in order to prevent a grievous danger to the peoples of this world and its posterity, the forbidden spell of Akronos would be employed by the members of this counsel. The artifact that was to be banished is recorded as the Staff of Discord. This object, if properly employed, has the potential for great danger. Therefore, in order to prevent its use for all time, one portion of the artifact is to be banished. The headpiece, bearing the inscription Schizokosmos, is hereby to be cast from time. The body of the staff will remain in th…  
  
Mold and age had long since stripped away even the magically maintained words. The fragmentary report was tantalizing, but useless. They could hardly write a ten-page report with so little information. Hermione was cheered - at least they had some information to go on - but Ron and Harry were even more frustrated. The titles Hermione mentioned in the restricted section were remarkably old, containing spells of insanely potent and complex dark magic. It would be nearly impossible to obtain a pass for those books, however flawless their reasons. With frustratingly little reward for hours of effort, they trudged toward the Gryffindor commons.   
__  
  
The next day brought an astonishing lesson in Advanced Magic Theory. The students, already tired from a long day, filed into the classroom and sat down. Dumbledore followed shortly, greeting them warmly and with gentle humor. The Headmaster then stood beside his desk and spoke. "Tell me," he began, "Why we have magic? Anyone? What is it about witches and wizards that allows them to employ these supposedly fantastic and unbelievable powers? I see you are at a loss. Good. I am not the only one. No one can explain why we are different from Muggles. So, we will consider it an insignificant question for the purposes of discussion. For the next hour, it will be taken for granted that wizards are born with abilities unavailable to Muggles, and that the natural talents of different wizards differ. Now, what produces these different forms and levels of magic?   
It is generally believed that all applied magic derives from great wells of magic. This magic is an inherent force present throughout the fabric of space and time. Of course, these magic pools are hardly literal. No one knows from what source or vessel magical essences are gathered and derived. Current research suggests that one may be a post-box in Surrey. But, again, that is a topic for another day. So, these wells of magic are universal, a fundamental but unperceivable force extant in all places and times. Every wizard casting a spell of any kind taps into various types of primordial magic. The result depends on the user. The kind and amount of fundamental magic power they can access determines the potency and types of spells they are able to use well.   
This primordial magic exists in many types and forms, with near unlimited usefulness. It can be used to heal or harm, build or devastate. The Dark Lord gained near-immortality by binding himself to the universal essence that is magic. However, for the most part, those who drink too deeply of these wells of power suffer extreme side effects. The Heresiarch had tapped this magical essence to a level unheard of before or since. It was slowly consuming his physical body. Therefore, almost all witches and wizards who attempt magic of any kind use a wand as a focus and safeguard for these forces. The wand may create certain limits upon the power of the user, but it can amplify the amounts of magic that can be safely drawn as well. Well-maintained wands of high quality can channel greater amounts of magic with near-perfect efficiency."  
Dumbledore glanced quickly at Harry, Ron, and Hermione before continuing. "The histories of the Ollivander family claim that an ancestor produced several wands of the highest order. This is very possibly true. Many scholars, however, doubt an aspect of this claim that smacks of hyperbole. It claims that this man had crafted a perfect wand, capable of gathering a pure, limitless supply of raw magical force and bringing it to bear upon whatever task the user desired. This may or may not be outright falsification, but an artifact with stunningly similar properties has been documented at one time or another. But I digress. What should you remember from this lesson? I, of course, would not expect you to know what magic is or from whence it comes, but do remember the manner in which we employ it. Remember how and why our powers differ, and why we use wands. Remember also the responsibility that comes with these powers - but that may perhaps be a lesson better suited to another day. A good afternoon to you all."  
As the Gryffindors filed from the classroom, Hermione dragged Harry and Ron aside. "That's it! There's our answer! We can check the library for a history of the Ollivander family - the wand Dumbledore mentioned sounded exactly like the descriptions we've found of the Staff of Discord, didn't it?"   
Harry and Ron blinked. Their puzzled expressions led to a frustrated shrug from Hermione. "Well, if you weren't paying attention, then I really don't see the point in…"  
"Whoa, easy, Hermione," Ron interjected, "We follow you, believe me. It's just that, well, wouldn't we have found some mention of the blighted thing in the library catalogues in books about the Ollivanders? I mean, come on, you could find it in the Minutes of the Sorcerers' Council but not in anything really obvious like the annals of a bloody maker of stuff just like it?"  
"How should I know, Ron? It's just something new to work on. We should really get to the library to look, don't you think? See you after Quidditch practice, then? Alright, that's settled." She smiled, waved, and dashed off toward Arithmancy. Harry and Ron stared after her, amazed. Research papers? These things could be dangerous!  
__  
  
The post of Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was a matter of much discussion. Alicia Spinnet, though a capable captain, had graduated early, leaving the captaincy open. Fred and George Weasley were in the eyes of the team and the house the two favorites for the spot, but no one could decide between the two. So, for the first time in living memory two co-captains commanded Gryffindor, the twin Beaters. They drilled the team with the same manic energy they directed toward their ever-present humor. Practice was as intense as it was under Oliver Wood, but it was fun. All the same, Harry and Ron were fatigued beyond human imagination as they trudged back up to the school from the practice grounds. Two hours of insanely difficult homework had been tackled by the duo before practice, and time was fast running out on the History of Magic paper. Fighting the sinking of their eyelids, they showered and headed to the library.  
Hermione sat at a table in the library, one hand supporting her head and the other flipping madly through the pages of an aged, leather-bound tome. Her eyes were worn and bloodshot, and a pile of books laid discarded at her feet. She looked up at them with weariness and desperation in her eyes. "Do you realize what day it is?" She whispered hoarsely, "It is the fifteenth of October and we have not written a single word. In three hours of searching I have found nothing. Nothing. That's not supposed to happen. I always find what I need for these papers. Always. How are we supposed to write a paper if we can't find the information? If we don't get this paper written, it will devastate our grades. And I can't find anything. I have checked twelve histories of the Ollivander family, wand making, and arcane artifacts. Kaspar is almost done with the paper, for crying out loud, and I can't even find our artifact mentioned!" Fearing his friend was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, Harry knelt beside to comfort her.   
"Hermione," he said softly, "It's alright. Just rest a little while. We'll look now. C'mon, Hermione. You've always been the best student at Hogwarts, and you always will be. This paper's just a tough deal, but we'll get through it, okay? Just rest for a few minutes." Looking at him as though she had just realized he was there, she nodded and visibly relaxed. The fog that had seemed to mist her eyes dissipated, and she leaned back in her chair. Smiling at her own obsession, she pointed out the shelves that contained the prospective books. Harry and Ron headed off to delve into the depths of the literary sea. Along one of the shelves, they found Kaspar paging through an encyclopedia of magical texts and scrolls. "Hail, brethren," he greeted them, "Just looking up some bibliographical information. How goes your paper?"  
"Slow," Ron replied, "Have you had to write that entire thing yourself?"   
"Pretty much. Lavender and Parvati have been trying to divine the paper we wrote in the potential future in which we got an "A". One was really pretty good, but apparently a Gryffindor student wrote it as a diversion in the slave mines of the victorious Dark Lord. We decided to pass on that one. A bit of a downer, all things considered. Anyway, it had to get done, so I did it. How's Hermione holding up?"  
"Not good, really." Harry responded. "She's really kicking herself over this paper. Have you seen any books that might help us?"  
"Sure, sure. Try the next row, third shelf. It might have a few useful ones on it."  
"Thanks, Kaspar. Good luck."  
After gathering several books, Harry and Ron returned to Hermione's table to search through them. Astonishingly enough, the same foul luck seemed to have stricken them. Even in the most likely of titles, they found no information whatsoever. Hours ticked by with no revelations, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione grew more and more frustrated. Around midnight, Ron fell asleep over a collection of genealogical data. Kaspar's soft snoring could be heard from the next table. Pushing away his book in utter despair, Harry rose and walked over to the window. The windows visible from the corridor were almost uniformly dark. Only arrangements with Madame Pince had allowed them to remain in the library after hours. Their research had consumed them so that time had passed almost without their notice. He was tired. Deeply, deeply tired. Was Harry Potter, survivor of countless horrors, finally at his limit? It was only a paper, but it felt like something more.  
After a few minutes, he felt Hermione standing beside him in the cool darkness of the window recess. The stars cast light softly across the silent courtyard, inviting the weary scholars to rest and peace. Harry kept his eyes on the starry sky but addressed his friend. "Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we subject ourselves to this kind of torture? I mean, it's not like we won't have time to finish this paper or get it done a little less perfectly. But we're here. Now. And I just don't understand myself."  
Hermione also gazed upward to the cascading celestial radiance. "I think we're afraid," she began, "All of us. Of who we are. Just look at Ron. All his life he's lived in someone's shadow. He wants to be the best at something, but his brothers have done just about everything he could. If he fails - at anything - he believes he's failed the expectations of those who think well of the Weasleys and proved the people like Draco who think less of him because he's poor. My parents were Muggles. I know it doesn't matter. Dumbledore and everyone else I respect say so. It doesn't matter to you, or to Ron. But I feel like I have to prove myself. I can show everyone that a Muggle-born witch can compete with anyone. But sometimes I'm afraid - I'm afraid that if I make one mistake, then everything's for naught. It gets tough sometimes. Ron and I, we've got to rise above the expectations of others. I really pity you sometimes. You're Harry Potter. You've always been hero of the world, son of the renowned Lily and James Potter. I've seen it in your eyes, sometimes - the feeling that you have to live up their memory. You can't escape that drive to make them proud, even though you've already been as noble and brave a son as anyone could ask for."  
"Yeah, Hermione. I think you might be right. Everyone apparently knows I'm supposed to be great except me. I just don't think I can ever be good enough to honor them properly. There's something else, though. Every year, something goes wrong. Last year I almost lost you. What would happen if Voldemort ever showed up again and I wasn't good enough? I want to learn as much as I can, do everything right, but I can't keep this up much longer. How about Kaspar? What's he afraid of?"  
"I don't know. Maybe we'll find out someday."  
"Well, for all this, there's only one thing I'm sure of. I don't feel afraid when I'm with you. Like you'll always accept me. Like the world could end and still I'd be safe with you."  
"Harry, I was just about to say the same thing. Are you sure you never pay attention in Divination?"  
She smiled, and the stars seemed to shine more radiantly reflected from her eyes. Harry laughed, and drew her close. Together they watched the heavens, all cares aside, adrift on a raft of silent joy in the ocean of night.   
Time passed in silence. As the library's clock struck one, Harry heard Kaspar rise softly from his chair and walk slowly down the hall toward Gryffindor's tower. Hermione yawned, and said, "Harry, what do you think? Does he have the right idea?"  
"Very definitely," Harry replied, "Let's gather up these books and get out of here. I'll grab them while you try to wake up Ron." He shuffled carefully back to the table through the dark library. As he lifted the Ollivanders' Wand Production Record, 945-1215 Edition, a shaft of moonlight fell across the open page. Harry stopped short. An entry was circled in the disappearing ink Hermione used to highlight information. Surprised, he whispered "Lumos!" and a point of light appeared on the end of his wand.   
No. 2813 - Oak, Experimental Core, 5.12 ft.  
Carved Decoration  
Craftsman: Ollivander, Balthasar   
Registration Number: SD47923  
Year of Production: 1003  
Registered Owner: Argyropt, Melchior  
Current Status: Unknown  
Harry set the book down and looked at the next tome. Stuffed in its pages were several sheets of notes in his handwriting. A third revealed scrawled notes on the pages in Ron's loose script. They had uncovered pages upon pages of relevant information, but he didn't remember a word of it. He gathered up the pages and placed them carefully in his bookbag. This he'd have to figure out tomorrow.   
As he climbed into his bed, he heard Kaspar's soft snoring from across the room. Sleep would be a very good idea.   
  



	3. Chapter 5

The next morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione conferred around a table in the common room. Harry spread the previously unknown notes over the table, and several marked books were stacked alongside. They pored over the newfound material and found massive amounts of information, everything they would need to write their report. Dates, places, and names; legends, historical references, and other data were available in abundance. Yet they had not remembered recording these facts – in fact, they had been in despair of ever finding them. For some bizarre reason, a blank spot had etched itself in their minds.  
  
Ron was convinced that a Slytherin had cursed them in Dueling class, but Hermione assured him no memory charm was so specific. She proposed that certain hexes contained in the restricted books could have such an effect, but it was unlikely that these books had been misfiled in the regular shelves. Harry was unsure; neither answer felt correct, but he had no explanation of his own. They would have welcomed Kaspar's advice, but he had visited the hospital wing complaining of a splitting headache.  
  
With little else to do, they decided that a verdict of temporary amnesia would suffice until a better solution presented itself. Classes were dismissed for the weekend, and they would have to use the time to complete their report. While Hermione gathered the parchment and quills she would need to write, Harry and Ron looked through and outlined the data. Hermione could, of course, have written the essay herself, but Harry and Ron felt that suggesting this could result in severe physical injury. When she returned, Harry and Ron presented their summary.  
  
"Well, it looks like the Staff was forged around A.D. 997 by a man named Balthasar Ollivander. If we need more stuff about him, it should be easy to find – he designed about a hundred wands by his twentieth birthday. Says here that he was the first to 'propose the possible influence of wand varnish on overall wand performance' and 'devised experimental core substances never duplicated since.' Probably about a dozen people on Earth would care, but put it in – it sounds intellectual. Anyway, every source that mentions him says he's the best wand craftsman in Ollivander family history. His name doesn't show up after about the year 1000, and those wands that do carry his name are listed 'posthumous manufacture.' So, we've got a legendary wand created by a master of the craft who dies at a young age. How's that for a stellar introduction?" Ron smiled as he finished his section, and passed the notes to Harry.  
  
Harry spoke. "Anyway, Ollivander completed the Staff and presented it to its owner, then specified that no other wands should be built to the same specifications. It was everything it was supposed to be – an immensely powerful tool – but he felt that copies of the Staff would be unsafe. He gave the Staff to his trusted friend, who used it in a series of magical experiments for a few years. Then records of the Staff have a blank spot until it was used in the campaigns of a Dark mage around 1107. The mage had used it as a wand, and even his simplest spells became unstoppable. Apparently, he hadn't quite got the hang of it. He activated one of the innate powers of the Staff, though, and things got out of hand. The Staff consumed him with its energy, but he had already cast enough of the spell to release an underpowered result – one that left a smoking crater a half- mile wide. Took lots of Memory Charms and talk about falling stars to cover that one up. The Staff remained unused until 1498, when Mallefoe the Mad studied the notebooks of Ollivander's friend – the Staff's original owner – and would have been able to harness the full powers of the Staff. Fortunately, he was run over by a horse-cart while trying to reshape the world in his image. The Sorcerer's Council got a little nervous, and the Staff was disposed of in 1507…can't remember how, but I'll look it up. His family even had to change its name – crazy, huh?"  
  
Harry paused to get a drink of water, and Ron continued. "Well, Harry will get back to the uses of the Staff in a minute, but its construction's really wild. The height and order number are written here, but I had to do a lot of looking to find out about the experimental core. Apparently, it's a combination of matter from the heart of a star and –get this – frozen time. Somehow Ollivander managed to extract a lump of time from the fabric of time and space and condense it into the wand core. It produces an incredibly effective material, but the whole setup is pretty weird. The Staff had some amazing powers – Harry'll get to those in a second. I found a picture of the Staff in one of the books we picked out, and some physical descriptions are listed here. The body is of oak, about an inch and a half in diameter, solid as a rock. Every square inch of the thing is covered in carved designs. These glyphs don't mean anything to me – but you're in Ancient Runes, Hermione, they might make sense to you. There are some inscriptions in Greek and Latin, too. On the headpiece, the carving Schizokosmos translates as "I cleave the world" or "I shatter order." These words wrapped around the base, along the staff –  
  
"Sum…Fui…Futurus"- translate, again roughly, as "I am…I have been…I shall be." Various other glyphs and runes are carved into the staff. I think that's everything. Here are my notes – I'll go take a look and make sure there's nothing I missed. Your turn, Harry."  
  
Harry arranged his notes while Hermione massaged her cramping hand. Her intelligence, intuition, and lively prose style had already converted their scanty data into almost 90 parchment inches. Of course, the covert presence of her notes underneath the scroll might have had something to do with it. When she took up her quill again, Harry spoke. "Well, we're just about finished, really. The Sorcerer's Council ruled in 1507 that the Staff had to be disposed of, so they split it in two parts. Even broken, each piece of the staff would possess incredible power, but the Staff's most terrible abilities would be inaccessible unless the Staff was whole. Apparently afraid the Staff could be reunited, the Council used a spell – Akronos – to banish it…from time…"  
  
Harry stopped. He placed his notes on the table with shaking hands. Expulsion from time…he knew it had seemed familiar. "Hey," he said, "You remember Professor Argyropt, don't you?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "I don't see how I could forget. He almost killed us. But, then again, it wasn't really him, was it? I remember the night he told us about the Heresiarch – about himself. About his friends, and how they were killed in the accident that unleashed Voldemort on this world. Do you think…oh my…Argyropt and Ollivander – they were friends, weren't they? I don't know why I didn't think of it before. It all fits. Ollivander died around the same time that Professor Argyropt lost his friends – around the time the Heresiarch appeared. The Staff of Discord…must have been used in the experiment that went wrong."  
  
Harry spoke again. "There's something more. Hermione – I don't know if I ever told you. In the Heresiarch's Tomb, after you were knocked out, I defeated the Heresiarch. You know that, but Dumbledore told me something else. Akronos must have been the spell. I banished Voldemort from time."  
  
"So you think the headpiece of the Staff could be in the same place Voldemort is? It could happen, I suppose. But what would it mean?"  
  
"I don't know. But if Professor Argyropt knew how to use the Staff, Voldemort would. I hope he never finds it."  
  
"Well, we can't worry about it now. We should get back to work. Argyropt and Ollivander…I should look into that."  
  
The only sound in the library was the insistent scratch of quill on parchment. 


End file.
